


Speak True

by voleuse



Category: Battlestar Galactica
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-23
Updated: 2005-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Without knowing how, or when, or from where.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak True

**Author's Note:**

> S1, no spoilers. Summary taken from Pablo Neruda's _Sonnet XVII_.

She doesn't realize he's seducing her until it's too late.

*

 

It begins with a smile, when they pass each other in the corridor. Perfectly normal, nothing Lee hasn't bestowed on her a hundred times before.

Then, he leans in, so their shoulders barely brush. "Morning, Starbuck," he murmurs in her ear.

His voice is pitched low, intimate.

She turns, walks backward to maintain eye contact with him, tosses a casual salute back.

If a shiver runs through her while she brushes her teeth, there isn't anybody around to see.

*

 

The next time, they're facing each other across a table, a pile of cards between them, a half-dozen of the crew laying odds on who'll win the next round.

It's down to the two of them, and she has full colors, but he doesn't so much as blink when she slaps her cards down.

Their audience cheers, adulation she gathers as her due, and she cages the chips within her fingers.

"You should know better than to bet against me," she teases him.

"I do," he replies, the corner of his mouth quirked, "but it's worth the risk."

"For these stakes?" She rattles the chips in her hands. "Outdated currency and a bottle of moonshine?"

"No," he says.

"Then for what?"

He smiles, stands. "To see you win."

Someone claps her on the back, distracts her, and when she turns back to Lee, all she finds is an empty pew.

She forgets the conversation, but she leaves her winnings on the table.

*

 

When they run in the morning, she has trouble meeting his eyes, though she's can't pinpoint exactly why.

He warbles a bit, something they picked up during training. Their footfalls act as tempo, but when he prods her to sing along, she rolls her eyes.

"Why not?" he asks.

"You've heard me sing," she reminds him.

"I have." He slows to a halt, studies her as she leans against the wall, breathless.

"Usually not on key, kind of loud?" she catalogues, grinning. "And I hate doing it while I run. I can't catch my breath."

"I know." He starts off again, a slow jog. "I like it."

She blinks, laughs. Then he's around the corner and gone, and she has to run to catch up with him.

*

 

Due to the lack of experienced pilots, and perhaps a bit to design, they fly the CAP together once, sometimes twice a week. As part of that patrol, once an hour, they fly by the _Galactica_ and cut capers for the couples watching from the observation deck.

The last time around, they dance their Vipers around each other, face each other to do a barrel roll past the glass. It's stupid, slightly dangerous, and probably a great show.

She whoops as they swoop towards the hangar deck, waggles her wings at his ship. "I didn't think you'd go for that maneuver, Apollo."

"What can I say, Starbuck?" She can almost hear his grin through the comm static. "I like to watch you move."

Then CIC cuts into their channel, confirms their status. Apollo's to report to the XO, and she has rooks to intimidate.

He shoots that grin at her before they part ways, and she carries it with her until she crosses into the ready room.

*

 

She's certain she should not be having these kinds of thoughts about Lee. Off the top of her head, she can think of at least five good reasons, maybe six.

All the reasons in the worlds, however, cannot stand when he pokes his head around the curtain of her bunk, taps two fingers against her ankle.

"Sweet dreams, Kara," he murmurs, eyes averted.

She barely manages a "good night" before he disappears again.

She stares at the bunk above her, counts to a thousand, then does it again.

Then she slips a hand between her legs, and bites her lip to keep from moaning.

*

 

The next day, when he bids her good morning, all she can think of is the arch and writhe of the night before.

Her feet stutter to a halt, and she stares at him with suspicion.

The corridor is empty, aside from the two of them, and he stops as well, confusion in his eyes.

"Good morning," he says again, questioning, and this time it's bright, common. Nothing like the original greeting, all sin and silk.

She folds her arms. "What are you doing?"

Something like a smirk covers his lips, then it's gone. "What do you mean?"

She draws closer to him, pitches her voice low to imitate the smokiness of his. "_Good morning_?"

"Yes." His gaze falls to her lips. "What's wrong with that?"

She lets out a huff of breath, doesn't think about proximity. "What are you doing?" she repeats.

One of his hands stirs from his side, hovers over her hip before dropping again.

He steps back. "What do you think?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. Then, "What do you want?"

Before she can put together an answer, the tide breaks, the corridor fills, and one of the nuggets flags her down.

Lee looks at her, long and sure, before he turns away.

She thinks she must have imagined the second question, that quiet, hesitant murmur, because the answer to it isn't something she'd dare to say out loud.

*

 

The question haunts her. Through the day, and night, and day and night again.

The rise and fall of Lee's voice becomes a pattern, a routine that prickles her skin, drives her almost to distraction.

The morning greeting. The game of cards every other evening. The ship-wide jog, every two days. Patrols every week.

And every night, the tap of his fingers against her leg, wishing her sweet dreams.

Counting to a thousand, and a thousand again.

She knows what he's doing.

He's driving her insane.

*

 

One day, she doesn't receive the thrill of Lee's morning greeting, and he doesn't appear for their appointed run. A couple of questions on the deck, casually put, reveal he's on Colonial One, called for consultation regarding the _Astral Queen_.

She flies patrol with Greenback, spends the entire round unusually annoyed at the sound of his voice. After patrol, she shrugs off a card game, ends up sparring with Cally instead.

She's harsher than usual, snaps at Cally for telegraphing punches. "No one's going to go easy on you. You're lucky I didn't knock you on your ass."

Cally drops her guard, stares at her until she feels a little guilty.

"Sorry," she grumbles. "But I'm right."

Cally watches her for another moment, then looks away. "Chief says Apollo's due back tonight," she says.

Kara frowns. "What the frak does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing." Cally shrugs. "Just thought I'd mention it."

She rolls her eyes. "Hit me again." Puts up her fists. "And mean it."

*

 

Sleepless, she stares at the bunk above her for hours. Stares until she hears the hatch clank open, and Lee's soft, familiar tread.

She holds her breath, listens to the click of his locker opening, the rustle as he sheds his jacket, boots, uniform.

A moment of full silence, then footsteps, _two, three, four_. A pause in front of the curtain of her bunk.

Then, his hand pushes it back, he ducks his head in. Taps two fingers against her ankle, murmurs, "Sweet dreams, Kara."

"Lee." She breathes out his name, and his fingers still against her leg. She rises on her elbows. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" He pauses, leans forward. She feels the thin mattress dip as he braces his other hand against it.

He doesn't ask the second question, but it doesn't matter.

She knows the answer. So does he.

She grabs his hand, pulls him in, onto her bunk.

Slides the curtain shut.


End file.
